


Let's Kill Tonight

by bitteraesthetic



Series: Self Indulgent One Shots [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mary Sue, Nonbinary Character, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitteraesthetic/pseuds/bitteraesthetic
Summary: Looking back, I’m still shocked I got his attention. Let’s be honest. I’m not stupid, but I am not Will Graham levels of genius. I’m also not exactly a classy person.





	Let's Kill Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin. I started writing self insert fics to deal with some stuff and it's actually going pretty well. I'm posting Hannibal first because it's the first one I wrote. There are no romantic entanglements.
> 
> Title is from _Let's Kill Tonight_ by Panic! at the Disco

Looking back, I’m still shocked I got his attention. Let’s be honest. I’m not stupid, but I am not Will Graham levels of genius. I’m also not exactly a classy person. Sure I can appreciate culturally relevant stuff like the ballet and the symphony, but I also liked pulling on a leather jacket and a good pair of stomping boots and throwing myself into a mosh pit of a punk show. Not to mention, out of all the personnel working at the hospital? Nutritional specialist not exactly high on anyone’s radar. 

There was also the bit where I spend my off time writing queer romance fiction and reading about historical disasters like the Halifax explosion. 

Which was why on a dreary Tuesday night, I expected to go about business as usual. It was my last day, and I was catching a flight out the next morning. Everything was packed and shipped off. My bags were at the hotel and I was looking forward to soaking in the tub and relaxing.

I brought his dinner in, wheeling it into the room on a cart. Barney was behind me, watching to make sure that Dr. Lecter didn’t try to grab me or something. I put the food in the sliding drawer and closed the door, then stepped back. Dr. Lecter raised an eyebrow at the tray, but he removed it and carried it to his table. He sat down to eat, and Barney left. I grabbed the chair near the door and sat, wishing I could read or listen to music. Watching a dude eat was boring.

Some days it was uneventful. Other days Dr. Lecter felt like talking. This was apparently one of those days. After he took two bites of the chicken, he said, “You did not prepare this.” 

“Nope,” I said. I took out my pendant, flipping it a few times. It was in the shape of a planchette and said “Ouija” on it, and with a flick of my fingers, I could make it circle several times. Out of all the fidget devices, I’d tried, it was my favorite. 

“I take it to mean that a new cook has been hired,” he concluded. 

“Astute observation,” I replied. 

“And that you will be leaving us soon.” I nearly swore. Of course, he knew. He knew everything. How he knew everything when he was locked up I didn’t know but I didn’t question it anymore. I’d only give myself a headache.

“New job,” I said. I knew we weren’t supposed to share private information, but that much was plainly obvious. I liked my job, a lot. The only way I’d ever leave was if I’d gotten a better offer.

“A shame, I will miss your bread.” 

“I feel as though you’re making fun of me,” I said. 

Dr. Lecter had moved on to the next part of his meal, deftly cutting the green beans. “Not at all. I admire anyone who can create what you have with no training.” 

“Practice makes perfect,” I pointed out. 

“Indeed.” He was quiet for a bit, and I looked to the door. It was still closed, Barney wouldn’t be back for a while. So I got up and slipped something into the tray, making sure to close it quickly. Dr. Lecter was giving me a considering look, and he got up and checked the tray. “Petit fours?” He asked. 

“Fondant fancies to be more specific,” I replied. “I saw them on Bake Off and wanted to try making some. They’re not bad. I made enough for the staff but Dr. Bloom and Dr. Chilton didn’t eat theirs.”

He picked them up gingerly and tried one. He gave a small smile and said, “I think I understand why you are so corpulent. This is quite good.” 

“You can say fat, you know,” I said. “I won’t be offended.” 

“It doesn’t bother you?” 

“Sometimes, but it’s true isn’t it?” 

“And you have an obsession with the truth.”

I sighed. “If you’re going to psychoanalyze me again I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Because you’re afraid of me.” 

“Anyone with sense is afraid of you, Dr. Lecter.”

At that, he gave me a disapproving look. “I have asked you to call me Hannibal.”

“Pardon, Hannibal,” I said, correcting myself. 

He finished eating and put the plate, utensils, and napkins back in the tray. I went to fetch them, and he said, “You’re too kind.” 

“That sounds like an insult,” I muttered. I retrieved everything and put it on the cart. 

"And you think your kindness will spare you?” Hannibal asked, and I shook my head. I knew exactly what he was talking about. It was no secret that Hannibal was always looking for ways to escape. Everyone knew that, and everyone knew to keep an eye out for it. Because he’d kill as many people as it would take to get out. 

I smiled, sitting back in my chair. I admit it, I’m a smiler. I smile every time I’m stressed out. Because it’s the worst possible side effect of working in a theme park. “You don’t see movies much, huh? Well, before you came here.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think this?” 

“You’re not the type.”

“You are correct, but why do you think this?” 

“You’re too fussy,” I said honestly, and there was a smirk on his face. 

“I see. Why do you bring this up?” 

I tucked my hair behind my ear, then gave an annoyed sigh when it fell in my eyes again. “So there’s this remake of Halloween by Rob Zombie. Who I really wish would just stop making horror movies he’s not nearly as good as he thinks he is. Anyway, so there’s this guy, Michael Myers, he goes to a mental health facility for murdering his sister. He was a kid at the time and grows up at the asylum. He’s there for about fifteen years.” I stopped to see if he was still listening. He gave me a little nod, and I took that to mean continue. 

“There’s this character at the asylum, played by Danny Trejo? And there’s this bit where he’s training a new guy who’s trying to knock Michael around because the guy never reacts to anything. And Danny puts a stop to it and says, “Hey, I’ve been taking care of this kid for years, I’m like a father to him.” Of course, it’s after that Michael escapes. You know what happens to Danny Trejo?” 

Hannibal tilted his head to the side. “No.” 

“Michael drowns him in a sink,” I replied. “He even pleads with him,” I dropped my voice and tried to affect the actor’s accent, “‘Why Mikey? I was good to you!’ And he was, he was very good to him because the character was a good person. And Michael killed him anyway.” 

I crossed my arms over my stomach and looked Hannibal in the eye, a difficult task. “I think about him once a week. It’s a reminder that given the chance? You and any of the other patients here would drown me. Or slit my throat. Or strangle me. Whatever.” I stood up and put the chair back, adding, “I’m not kind to you because I think you’ll spare me. I’m kind to you because I like to be kind to people.” 

I wheeled the cart to the door and turned to him, giving a slight bow. “Good evening, Hannibal.” Barney let me out, and I left. I didn’t think of the conversation again until later that night. 

It was late, and I was getting ready to go home. I’d brought everyone their meals, recorded what they ate, what they didn’t in their charts as was my job. I was exhausted and wanted to get a burger and relax. Sleep sounded like a great idea too, though I figured I’d be too excited. I never slept well the night before a trip.

Everything seemed to be going all right, I was clocked out and had my coat on, ready to go. Until I heard the alarm go off. I gulped, knowing that the building would be going into automatic lockdown. 

“Fuck,” I said as the door to the break room opened. 

“Mx. Holmes,” one of the guards said. “You need to stay here.”

“Yes, because I’m totally going to leave the hospital when one of the inmates has gotten out,” I said sarcastically.

He gave me a derisive look, then said, “Thanks for making my job easier.”

“I’m not making it harder,” I pointed out. 

He handed me a baton, saying, “Anyone comes in that door, bash ‘em over the head with this.” And he left, locking the door behind him.

“This should end well,” I said, wishing I felt as cavalier as I sounded. 

I was trapped in a small room in a lunatic asylum where the likes of Hannibal Lecter were imprisoned, and I was expected to defend myself with a large and heavy stick. That didn’t make me feel better. I sat at the table and took out my phone. If I was going to die I was going to listen to some music. 

I pulled up my emo playlist because I am shamelessly addicted to the trifecta that is My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, and Panic! At the Disco. Because I never emotionally matured after the age of twenty-one. And I am just fine with that. I selected “random” and pulled up Wikipedia on my phone. I’d be there a while, and it was a perfect time to article cruise. 

When the song came up, I chuckled, not even surprised. I began to sing along. 

_ If I retreat, words, wars, and symphonies _

_ Make room we're taking over here _

_ You're the galantine, cold and alone, it suits you well _

_ Won't find me perching here again _

_ May your feet serve you well _

_ And the rest be sent to hell _

_ Where they always have belonged _

_ Cold hearts brew colder songs _

_ Fate will play us out with a song of pure romance _

_ Stomp your feet and clap your hands _

_ Let’s kill tonight, kill tonight _

_ Show them all we’re not the ordinary type _

_ Let’s kill tonight _

I paused, however, as I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I got up and turned around, dropping my phone, which yanked my headphones right out. “Ow!” I exclaimed. I was not even a little surprised to see Hannibal standing in front of me. How he’d gotten in, I wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t my concern. I was alone, in a locked room, with Hannibal Lecter.

“Good evening, Harper,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied, waving. I still had the baton in my hand, but I wasn’t sure I could use it. I wasn’t an idiot, I knew that he worked out often and there was a lot of muscle under those ugly prison pajamas. I’d get one or two good whacks in and that would be it. 

“I didn’t know you sang,” Hannibal said, stepping closer. I took a step back. 

“Used to sing professionally. Not the kind of music you’d listen to, though,” I replied. “Unless you’re suddenly super into punk music.” 

“You’re correct in that assumption, it is a genre I’m not fond of,” he said. He was getting closer, and I felt my back hit the wall.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, gripping the baton. I could hear the music from my phone, tinny and strained and far away. 

“Drown you,” he said. “Slit your throat. Strangle you. I haven’t decided.” 

I gulped, then said, “I know you’re a sadist, but please, just… Stop. Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly.” 

Hannibal was standing so close I could have reached out and slapped him. Or hit him with the baton. But my arms were suddenly useless, and I was trying to keep my breathing under control. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, and I was sure he could hear my heart beating. 

“Tell me, how do you feel?” Hannibal asked.

“Like I swallowed a live octopus that is wielding many, many knives,” I said. 

“As always, your descriptors are as apt as they are vivid,” he said. He then took my free hand, and I dropped the baton. He traced the veins in my palm, and then placed something in it. I blinked and saw it was one of my fondant fancies. I was confused and knew it was showing on my face as I looked up at him. He reached up, fingers brushing the side of my face, and then down my neck. It made me shiver, not entirely from fear, but there was a good dose of it in there.

“I don’t understand,” I told him. 

“I came to thank you, for your kindness,” Hannibal said. 

“That’s... “ I was trying not to be rude, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Completely unexpected and terrifying. I mean, thank you, very much, that’s very kind of you. But you scared the shit out of me. You still are.”

There was that quirk to his lips, clearly amused. “I know. But still, I thank you. Perhaps I’ll come to visit you someday.” 

“Nothing would petrify me more,” I said honestly. 

Hannibal stepped away from me and went to the door. “I should return. They’ll realize it was me soon.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? I tried for politeness, at least. “Well… I hope you have a good night.” 

“You as well,” Hannibal said. He wrenched the door open, the door jam splintering as he did. 

I sank to the floor, relearning how to breathe, still holding the fondant fancy. 

The next morning, I left the asylum for the last time. I was questioned by security, and by Dr. Bloom herself. She was giving me assessing looks, her eyes reminding me of a doll’s with how glassy they were. I was holding the fondant fancy the entire time, the icing melting and sticking to my palm. I ended up eating it in her office and licking the fondant off. 

“Are you all right?” She asked, and I shook my head. 

“Nope,” I said. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“Not even a little.” 

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, and she said, “I don’t have to tell you, but I will anyway. Hannibal taking an interest in you is dangerous.”

“I know.” 

“And you also know the people he takes an interest in either end up dead… Or murderers,” Dr. Bloom added. 

“Believe it or not, I do pay attention when people talk to me. That does include your ‘Hannibal is dangerous’ speech you give the staff once a month,” I snapped. “Look, can I go? I’m going to miss my flight.” 

Dr. Bloom was giving me a hard, cold look. I glared back, but she said, “Yes, you may go. Stay safe, Mx. Holmes.”

“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Say hello to the missus and the kid for me. I hope you guys have a long and happy life together.” I then barged out of the office, pulling my bag onto my back and returning to the hotel I was staying at. I was never so happy that I’d already moved out of my apartment, my things would arrive before I did.

When I got there, I showered, changed, and headed to the airport. As I sat in the back of a cab, trying to make sure I got everything, I reached for my pendant. It wasn’t there, and I frowned, checking my suitcase. It wasn’t there either, and I searched my bag. I paused when my fingers brushed against an envelope.

My heart was racing as I withdrew it from my purse. Opening it, I found a drawing. It was me, using a ouija board, dressed like a Regency gentleman. I’d seen drawings like it before, in Hannibal’s room. Then I remembered. Hannibal had touched my neck. I stopped looking for my planchette necklace, I knew where it was.

“You okay?” The driver asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, shoving the drawing back into my bag. 

“Here we are,” he said. “Have a safe flight.”

“Yeah, thanks. I hope you have a lucrative day,” I replied. I retrieved my bags and walked into the airport.

Hannibal Lecter likely knew where I was going. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew my home address. But that wouldn’t stop me. I needed a change, and I’d get that where I was going. As I walked through the terminal gates, I let go of it all and embraced my new life. 


End file.
